By Right of Purchase

"No," said Urmston; "I am, unfortunately, one of the people who don't change at all. It would be so much easier for me if I did."

This was sufficiently plain, but it brought no gratification to the girl. On the whole, she was rather annoyed with him, though she had a lingering tenderness for him still. After all, he had loved her as well as he was capable of loving, and that counts for a good deal with some women.

"There was," he said, "only one woman who could have made the most out of me, and have led me to a higher level."

"And she married another man. It is remarkably hard to reach a more elevated level alone, and a woman would naturally rather lean on than drag her companion."

Urmston's face flushed. "I think I could have been capable of a good deal more than I probably ever shall be now, if you could have trusted me."

"Still," said Carrie, with a half-wistful sense of regret she could not wholly drive out, "the time when I might have done so has gone."

The man leant forward a trifle nearer her, "Carrie," he said, a trifle hoarsely, "are you happy with this Canadian?"

The girl felt her cheeks burn, and was glad that the soft dusk was now creeping into the verandah. "Well," she said, "I am as happy as I deserve to be."

Then there was a drumming of hoofs, and she was only pleased when Leland swung himself down, hot and dusty, from the saddle. He came into the verandah, and stood a moment glancing at the stranger.

"Mr. Reginald Urmston – an old friend of mine at Barrock-holme," said the girl. "I am not quite sure whether you have ever met my husband before."

Leland held out a hard hand, and Carrie was grateful for the swiftness with which he did it. It suggested an unquestioning confidence in her.

"Oh, yes," he said, "I remember. Glad to see you, Mr. Urmston. Carrie's friends are always welcome. Hope you'll stay here a month if you feel like it."

Mrs. Annersly and Gallwey entered the verandah just then, and, when the others left them shortly afterwards, remained there. Gallwey thought that his companion had something to say to him. Though there was nothing very definite to warrant it, he felt that they were allies.

"One could almost fancy that you didn't seem quite pleased with – circumstances," he said.

"Well," said Eveline Annersly, "I don't think I am. If that man had fallen out of his waggon and broken his leg before he got here, I almost believe I should have been happier. I do not care in the least whether that is a judicious speech or not."

Gallwey grinned. "There are," he said significantly, "a good many badger-holes scattered about the prairie, and the horse that puts its foot in one is apt to come down awkwardly. I wonder if there is anything definite you expect from me?"

"I should suggest that you insist upon teaching Urmston farming, and keep him busy at it," said Mrs. Annersly.

CHAPTER XVI

URMSTON SHOWS HIS PRUDENCE

It was falling dusk when Reginald Urmston strolled along the little trail through the birch bluff with one of Leland's cigars in his hand. He had been at Prospect a week now, and had on the whole found the time pass pleasantly, though he felt that Carrie's attitude towards him, while no doubt the correct one, left much to be desired from his point of view. If he had been asked exactly what he had expected from her when he came there, he would have had some difficulty in framing a concise answer, for he was a man who acted on impulse, without prevision, or any great strength of purpose. Still, he had certainly not looked for the matter-of-fact friendliness she displayed. He felt that a few hints of regret for happiness thrown away, or, at least, a sorrowful protest or two against the stern necessity which had separated them, would have been considerably more appropriate, and he would have been prepared to offer delicate sympathy.

It is also probable that he would have done it gracefully, for, although he had not exactly shone at the crisis as a passionate lover, he had the capacity for making a successful philanderer. Carrie, however, had never admitted that she was either unhappy or dissatisfied with her husband, and the farmer's indifference was somewhat galling. Leland did not seem to resent in the least the fact that the stranger spent a good deal of his time in his wife's company, and frequently strolled up and down with her in the lingering twilight, between the house and the birch bluff. It suggested that Leland had either an implicit confidence in his wife, or a very low opinion of Urmston's attractiveness, and the latter found neither of these surmises particularly consoling. He had certainly loved Carrie, and fancied that he did so still.

On the evening in question, he expected to meet her, and hoped Eveline Annersly would not, as generally happened, be there as well. He did not like Eveline Annersly, or her little ironical speeches, for, while he could not have complained of her active hostility, had she shown any, it was naturally not gratifying to be made to feel that she was merely amused with him. It was a clear, still day, and the pale green of evening gleamed behind the birches, while their slender stems stood out like ebony columns against the glare of smoky red on the verge of the prairie. The coolness was exhilarating, and there was something in the deep stillness under which the prairie rolled away, vast and shadowy, that vaguely stirred the man. He was in a somewhat complacent mood, for Carrie had been unusually gracious to him that day, and his cigar was very excellent. He was thinking of her when he was startled by a soft beat of hoofs, and, looking up, saw a mounted man come suddenly out of the shadows.

The stranger pulled his horse up sharply, and sat at rest for a moment or two gazing down on him. He wore a wide hat, a loose shirt above his jean trousers, and long boots. With one hand on the holster at his hip, he looked undoubtedly truculent.

"Leland's in the house?" he asked.

"I believe so," said Urmston, who felt a bit uneasy.

The stranger moved his hand a trifle, so that the butt of a pistol appeared above the edge of the holster.

"Then walk straight in front of you, through the bluff, and out on to the prairie," he said. "If you turn round, or come back in the next ten minutes, you're going to have trouble with my partner, who is watching you."

Urmston did not move at once. He did not think this visit promised anything particularly pleasant to Leland, but that was, after all, not his affair. Still, though he was not expecting either of them just then, there was a chance that Carrie or Mrs. Annersly might enter the bluff. He had no reason to suppose that the stranger would cause them any annoyance if they did, but the man's appearance was far from prepossessing.

"Well," said the latter sharply, "what in the name of thunder are you stopping for? Hump yourself before you're sorry."

Urmston saw the pistol slide almost out of the holster, and the man's hand move on the bridle. The gestures were suggestive, and he did as he was bidden. Carrie, he decided, had not come out yet, or he would have seen her. He did not stop until rather more than the prescribed ten minutes had expired, and then found himself well out in the silent prairie. It was almost dark now, but he thought he saw a dim object moving down the edge of the wheat, and that he could hear the muffled beat of hoofs. There was only one horse, however, and he realised that the part he had played had, perhaps, not been an altogether brilliant one. On the whole, he fancied, it would be advisable to say nothing about it. He went back through the bluff, and came upon Carrie moving across the space of dusty grass between it and the house.

"Do you know who it was that rode through the bluff a little while ago?" she asked.

"No," said Urmston, as carelessly as he could, "I certainly do not."

Carrie, so far as he could make out, appeared a trifle astonished. "Well," she said, "I thought you must have met the man. I saw him come out and ride towards the house, but didn't seem to recognise him. Still, I daresay he was one of our visitors' cattle boys."

"I scarcely think it's worth worrying about," said Urmston, reflectively. "For one thing, it's too beautiful a night to waste in thinking about a Canadian stock-rider. One would hardly imagine any of them are sufficiently interesting to warrant it."

Carrie understood that this was probably as far as he considered it advisable to venture, since she knew that he considered her husband a stock-rider too. Although she was not exactly pleased, it did not seem worth while to show her displeasure.

"One must talk of something," she said.

Urmston appeared to glance at her reproachfully. "There was a time when you and I could be content without a word. Silence is now and then wonderfully expressive. Thoughts are often spoiled by being forced into clumsy speech."

"That time has gone by some little while ago," she said; and there was a quiet decisiveness in the girl's tone that the man did not seem to notice. "Perhaps it was our own fault, though I do not know. Circumstances were against us, but it might have been different, had we had the courage to take our destiny in our hands. Still, I am not admitting that I am sorry we did not do so."

Urmston was sensible of a slightly uncomfortable feeling. It had been borne in upon him that, had he shown himself bolder and more persistent, Carrie might, after all, never have married Leland. Still, he did not think it kind that she should remind him of it, if that, indeed, was what she had meant to do.

"Those days," he said gently, "will always live with me. I have only the memory of them to cheer me, and I cherish it as my dearest possession."

The girl did not know whether she was touched or not. She was naturally, at least, a little sorry for him, but his self-compassionate sentimentality was apt to become tiresome at times.

"Wouldn't it be wiser if you made an effort to keep it a little further in the background?" she said. "It would, in the circumstances, at least, be more appropriate."

The man dropped his voice. "Carrie," he said, "I couldn't if I wished to. Love of one kind is indestructible. Even the fact that you were forced into marrying another man cannot destroy it. He is, after all, an accident."

Carrie's face had flushed, but she laughed outright Urmston's love, indestructible as he said it was, had, as she realised now, prompted him to do very little, while there was something singularly inapposite in his terming her strenuous, forceful husband an accident. She felt that, had he been in her disconsolate lover's place, he would at any cost have broken through the encompassing difficulties.

"Ah," she said, "that was really a little ridiculous. Charley Leland is rather unalterable, inflexible of purpose."

Urmston appeared confused, and it was, perhaps, a relief to both when Eveline Annersly came up.

"Haven't those people got through their business yet?" asked Carrie.

"No," said the elder lady. "They were still talking as earnestly as ever when I passed the door. I think something of importance must be going on."

The surmise was, as a matter of fact, warranted, for that evening Leland and his neighbours once more sat about the little table discussing the outlaws. A little apart from them, Sergeant Grier sat intent and upright. The windows of the big room were wide open, and the cool evening air flowed in.

"My part is quite simple," the Sergeant said. "I shall be glad to act upon any reliable information you may be able to put before me, and, if it appears necessary, call upon you for assistance in heading off or laying hands on the whisky men. In that case, you will be, for the time being, practically police troopers. I guess it's not my business to ask if you are acting as an organisation or not. There's nothing to stop any citizen giving me information; in fact, it's his duty."